Remember me? (short story)

I push the trolley wearily around aisle 5, in search of eggs. I can never find anything in here anymore after the renovations they had. I grip the push bar like it might keep me upright, I should’ve stayed in bed this morning. My eyes hang heavily low on my face as I wander on, half asleep. I pass rows and rows on nonsense nobody needs, including a million different variations of what seems to be the same cereal, those weird lint roller things in every colour you could imagine and a multitude of overpriced “specialist” coffee brands.

I approach the end of an aisle and decide nobody would mind if I had a humble nap in the back corner. I must admit, I didn’t think I would spend my afternoon snoozing amid the toilet papers, but here we are. I nod off, still unsure of why I’m so tired. It quickly becomes clear to me that I have absolutely no memory of walking in here, or getting here, or even waking up this morning. Oh well.

Darkness.

Fills my vision

As I slowly stand up

On the grass around me

I must be behind the shop. Theres a small field there, I think.

My mind is still fuzzy, the supermarket trip feeling horribly distant in my mind.

It doesn’t matter. It’s coming for me. I can hear it breathing, feel its vibrations through the earth. I shoot up to my feet and sprint out across the empty plane, staring at the perfect blue sky, gentle sun and unending flawless grass. Each step pulls my feet further into the earth at It approaches me. Too fast for me, too fast to process, no. I won’t go down again. I stretch my eyes up as my legs speed on, I must stay awake. I turn around and the shop is gone. I can’t describe what I’m feeling, it’s like de ja vu but I’m not safe. I can’t see my chaser anywhere; it normally doesn’t disappear for this long. I turn my face to the clouds for help, but they mock me, their grey layers twisting into insults I don’t need to hear. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, that’s what I say.

In the foreground and quickly coming into focus I see a lady. She isn’t particularly short or tall, just…. medium. Her black hair curls gently on her shoulders, but it is outgrown, the wind revealing bright roots. I move closer, inspecting her pale skin, long nose and subtle lips. Her dress is long, falls below her knees and ruffles slightly at the bottom. It is a stunning sparkly silver with black accents on the sides and the sleeves. She looks down at me from her lower angle and just stays there. I reach out to touch her face, she’s real, its all real. I told them, and now they’ll see too.

My satisfied heart slows and my body contracts, the shock gone and I feel safer. The lady turns, and produces something from a large pocket in her skirt, is that a knife? No, no, she’s smiling at me pleasantly, she wouldn’t-

She grabs my shoulder and pushes the knife into my stomach. I stagger back, blood staining my- wait. What am I wearing, is that a hospital gown? I’m, not…...I’m not sick. The blood drips to the ground and the lady pulls me forward, she’s disappearing into a darkness that opened around her. She opens her mouth, “Freya,”

The word, that familiar word, escapes her lips. My heart thumps violently as the lady slips into the void. My knuckles turn white holding hers. My fears come alive as she drags me in with her. My perception blurs.

Bright lights pour into my brain. Everything is gone, I can’t remember anything. I hear a recognisable voice, deep and certain.

“This is the 4^th time this week, we must let her go. She’s not responding to the meds. I feel like we’ve tried everything.”

“I know, but I should be the one to talk to her. It’s been long enough. If she must go, it must be by my hand,” says a friendlier and female voice. Its gentle and a little congested.

I hear footsteps approaching and a large metal door In front of me opens. I flinch at the sound and my stomach drops. I feel sick.

“Freya, sweetheart,” comes the female voice again. “it happened again didn’t it”. She looks at me like I have something to tell her. I don’t.

I look around the room, padded white walls and flooring, yellowing a little around the corners. It makes faces at me, mocks me, calls me unwell. I ignore it and move on to a glass wall. I see my reflection, my black hair curling down my back now, how long have I been in here? My roots are so grown out. I turn to the lady sticking a needle in my arm. She has wavy, brown hair and a long but kind face. Her yellow eyes clash with her white coat. They’re filling with tears.

“what’s wrong?” I croak, my throat suddenly swelling up.

“Oh Freya, I’m so sorry” she sobbed. “I just wanted to help you, but I can’t. 13 years and nobody can help you”

She turned to the rusting door, my brain lagging and still trying to figure out what she said. She sighed and came back over to me and pulled me to my feet.

Without another word she opens the door and moves me down a hallway. I see faces from behind walls on my way down the hall, their expressions twisting and moving before my eyes. At the end of the hallway there is another metal door, sporting many complex iron locks. The lady begins to work at the locks, taking them off one by one. My head begins to throb. I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening and I can’t speak or think clearly. The door creaks open and the lady pushes me inside.

I land on a cold concrete floor in the pitch-dark room. I see the ladies sallow face through the sliver of light the door creates. “Remember me” she whispers into the emptiness. The door slams behind her and my stomach continues bleeding, my guts spilling out, my head spinning as I  return again to dust.